by Stefon Mears
Cavan noticed Qalas smirk at the guards. Or perhaps at their weapons.
That was only a single hall, though. Then it was through a secret door behind a tapestry, along narrow gray stone passages lit by more smokeless torches. Along the outside wall of the castle now. Cavan could tell by the arrow slits.
Up one set of stairs, then down two others, and finally into a room with no stone showing at all. Dark brown wood for the floors, walls, and ceiling. A chandelier with flameless candles. Tapestries of hunting scenes on three of the walls, while the fourth had large glass windows showing a peaceful view of an apple orchard beside the lake. One other door, on the opposite side of the room.
Animal furs served as rugs, wolf and bear and two others Cavan didn’t recognize.
Large, overstuffed brown couches arranged around a large wooden hearth, where the illusion of flame gave off heat as well as light. A mahogany sideboard featured a variety of liquors in cut glass bottles.
“Whiskey,” the duke said to his squire, who went to the sideboard and began to pour. To his older serving man, Uli, a pale, wrinkled man with kindly brown eyes and a small, apparently permanent smile, the duke said, “Fetch our guests, if you would.”
Those last three words brought a surprised exchange of looks among Cavan, Ehren and Amra.
The squire returned with a silver tray, and five crystal tumblers, each featuring perhaps two inches of brown liquor. The duke accepted his first, then the squire offered glasses around. Qalas took his, but Ehren shook his head, and Amra said, “I don’t drink with men who send killers after my friends.”
“I never turn down a drink I’m not paying for,” Qalas said.
The duke smiled and turned to Cavan. “The killers were politics. The drink is personal. Will you drink with your uncle?”
“If we meet at my father’s court, I will drink with you. If you visit me at my holding one day, I will drink with you. If ever we come together as friends, I will drink with you.”
Cavan shook his head. “But today you are the man who kidnapped my foster family and tried to have me killed to steal my inheritance. Today even that drink is ‘politics.’”
“You’ll make a fine baron one day,” the duke said, “but you must stop leaping to conclusions.”
The duke sipped his whiskey then, and Cavan had the feeling that asking for clarification wouldn’t help.
Cavan also noticed that Qalas quietly set his drink down, untasted.
“Ah,” the duke said. “You’re all missing an excellent whiskey. Brewed by the smallfolk in the Blue Mountains — north of the land you’ll one day hold.”
“I’m sure they’ll brew another batch.”
The duke was smiling, and about to say something when the door opened and Kent came through.
Cavan crossed the room in a flash and hefted his foster father in a hug. Pain shrilled out from Cavan’s shoulder, but he ignored it. Kent looked just as Cavan remembered him. Silvery hair still short and silvery beard still long. His proud belly a little broader, and his laugh just as cheery as he hugged Cavan back.
“Put me down, lad,” Kent said with a laugh. “I’m not a puppy.”
“Sorry,” Cavan said, setting his foster father quickly but gently and probing into those hazel eyes for signs of pain or stress. “You’re all right? He’s been treating you well?”
“Perfectly,” Kent said, still laughing, “now stand aside so you can meet my wife and say hello to Reed and Alec.” He held up an admonishing finger. “No picking up my wife now. Mind her dignity.”
“Mind your own dignity,” said a throaty woman’s voice as the speaker pushed past Kent to size up Cavan. She could only have been Kent’s new wife. A southerner, though her skin wasn’t quite as dark as Qalas’, she had long ropes of wooly hair, eyes so dark they were almost black, and a build much like her husband’s. Where Kent wore fine wools for his brown and green garb, she wore silks or something like them, though of matching color.
She also matched her husband smile for smile, from her lips to her eyes.
“So you must be Cavan,” she said, and her smile broadened. “They said you were tall, but no one said you were handsome.” She spread her arms wide. “My name is Rena. Come, give me a hug as well. And if you want to pick me up, I assure you my dignity can take it.”
The pain in his shoulder well behind a mental barrier now, Cavan did just that. She smelled like walnuts and cherries, and she hugged even tighter than Kent did.
Reed and Alec finally made their way into the room. Poor guys had never grown any taller than their father, and they both tended toward his build, but they were smiling, and their reddish blond hair told the history of their father’s.
They greeted their foster brother as they always had, warm smiles and firm handshakes. Never quite brothers, but never quite just friends either.
“Satisfied that they’ve been unharmed?” the duke said, with so much humor in his voice Cavan was amazed the man didn’t laugh.
“Unharmed?” Kent said, while his wife said, “Why would anyone hurt us?”
“You came here willingly?” Cavan said, amazement growing in his voice.
“Of course,” Kent said. “I’m steward of lands belonging to the king, himself. No one would dare try to take me by force.”
“But you left the manor in a hurry. Under guard.”
“Yes,” Kent said, looking a little guilty. “Well, about that.”
“What’s about that,” Rena said, “is that Kent saw a business opportunity.”
“Just what was discovered in those mountains?” Ehren said.
“You know about that?” Reed said, prompting Alec to retort, “Obviously not, or they’d know what was discovered.” To which Reed replied, “Not true, we know about the discovery, but not what was found.”
Kent cleared his throat loudly. His sons shut their mouths, and his wife gave him a look of dwindling patience.
The duke, for his part, looked amused.
“Wait,” Cavan said. “Let me see if I have this much straight. Something was discovered in the Barony of Juno.” He pointed at Kent. “You were in residence at the time. Got word about it. But Duke Falstaff had spies among the workers or the overseers—”
“I object to their characterization as ‘spies,’” the duke said. “They were miners from Nolarr, who remained loyal to their liege. Nothing more.”
“These … workers … got word to the duke, and the duke made you an offer before word of the discovery spread. Is that right?”
“Basically,” Kent said, stroking his beard. “Though I’d love to know how word reached you so quickly, your grace. That offer came scant minutes after I got the news myself.”
“I prize efficiency.” The duke attempted a cryptic smile, but that might have been more effective if Cavan hadn’t known the truth.
“It doesn’t matter how,” Cavan said with a meaningful look at the duke. “What matters is that I thought the duke had you taken, but instead it seems—”
“He invited us,” Rena said, “and we’ve been his guest during negotiations.”
“Negotiations for what?” Ehren asked.
The poor priest looked ready to burst if someone didn’t tell him soon. Amra, for her part, appeared to have nigh infinite patience. Qalas looked like he was studying the dynamics of the room.
Kent pulled a green velvet pouch from his belt and handed it to Cavan. Even that simple motion made the duke lean forward, a hint of greed showing through those nearly golden eyes.
Cavan could feel power in the pouch even before he opened it. He loosened the string and dumped the contents into his hand.
They looked like crystals, the same as crusted the stones of the Blue Mountains. Some pale blue, some dark as indigo. But their resemblance ended there. These were clearer than their mountainside cousins. Purer. As though they were the true, refined versions of the pale imitations that gave the Blue Mountains their name.
And there was more.
Power.<
br />
Each of these crystals — these gemstones — carried power. Power that a wizard could tap into. Together the half-dozen gems in Cavan’s hand might have granted enough power to break a siege or level a keep. In hands that knew what they were about.
These gems were worth more than sapphires.
“The mine is deep,” Kent said. “And the vein doesn’t look long. Not sure how many there are.”
“What else was—” Ehren started, but Cavan cut him off. He was looking at the duke when he spoke.
“Kent, do you know what these are?”
“Rarer than sapphires is what they are,” he said. “And once I cut them they’ll be more beautiful than—”
“Magic,” Cavan said. “These stones are like concentrated magic.”
“They … what?”
“They are?” the duke said with feigned surprise. “Then allow me to increase my offer.”
“Your host,” Cavan said, almost biting off the words, “wanted these gems so much he tried to kill me to improve his claim to that barony.”
“He what?” Rena said.
“But killing you wouldn’t be enough,” Kent said, puzzlement through his features. “He’d need to … oh.”
Yes. With these gems to power his magic, the duke could have sped the king’s death. Possibly without anyone growing the wiser.
“No deal,” Rena said. “These gems aren’t for sale.”
“My wife is quite right,” Kent said, anger blazing in his eyes as he looked at the duke. “These stones are a gift for my foster son, and the king himself will decide what to do about the mine.”
Cavan almost shivered at what passed across the duke’s face. Rage, bordering fury, followed by a peaceful quiet so deep it was as though the rage had never been there.
“Uli,” the duke said, “see to rooms for our new guests, and dinner for them all. They’re to eat here in this room, and depart in the morning. After that priest keeps his sunrise promise to me.”
“I don’t break promises,” Ehren said.
And with that the duke turned and left, his squire rushing to keep up with his pace.
“I’m glad you bound his oath,” Amra said to Ehren, and Qalas nodded.
“So,” Cavan said, “Kent, Rena, Reed, Alec, let me introduce you to my friends…”
* * *
The next morning, Kent and his family departed swiftly along the Royal Road, bound for Oltoss and a meeting with the king.
Cavan hated saying goodbye to them so soon, but at least it was a goodbye filled with smiles and hugs and a promise to visit them in Tradeton — or Juno — sometime soon. Cavan had the feeling it would be Juno.
Cavan and his friends couldn’t very well ride beside them, though, not with their own steeds a good several leagues away near a burned out farm that Cavan didn’t want to draw attention to. And Kent’s business couldn’t wait.
So Cavan, Ehren, Amra and Qalas walked alone through the rolling green hills of the Nolarr countryside that morning. Waving to farmers and tradesmen as they passed. The early summer air smelled fresh, like farms and livestock and good wild grass. The sun shone bright in the clear sky above them, and Ehren sang, as he was wont to do.
The other three dropped back a few steps to talk.
“Didn’t look happy, did he?” Qalas said, talking about the duke.
The duke had met them briefly at sunrise, wearing a white linen robe. Whether to hide his burns, or to honor Zatafa, Cavan wasn’t sure. But his expression was a distant kind of sour, and it wasn’t helped when Ehren healed Cavan’s hurts before tending to the duke. A crisp, formal “thank you” was all he said before departing.
“Not in the least,” Amra said, happily. “I’d say we just spoiled his next five years of plans.”
“How can you sound so happy?” Qalas shook his head. “He promised no harm to Kent and his family, but he didn’t make that promise about us.”
“Let him try.” She shrugged. “Eventually we’ll get bored of killing his agents and finish him off ourselves.”
“He’s the king’s brother,” Cavan said. “It’s not that simple.”
“Of course it is,” Amra said. “There might be some fallout, but what of it?”
“What of it is that he has two sons and a daughter,” Cavan said. “And killing him starts a cycle of revenge that won’t end quickly.”
“Finally,” Ehren called back. “You’re finally admitting that killing isn’t always the answer.”
“I never said it was,” Cavan said.
“I’m not convinced it’s not,” Amra said. “It’s done very well for us so far.”
“How?” Qalas stopped walking and turned to face Cavan and Amra. Ehren stopped and turned back to see what was happening. Qalas looked from one to the other. “How can you do that? How can you support each other to the death one moment, then argue about something as basic and important as taking a life?”
“Ah ha!” Ehren said, raising a triumphant finger. “He admits taking a life is a big deal. I knew I’d like having him around.”
“A fine meal is a big deal too,” Amra said, “and there are times I enjoy the one as much as the other.”
“This is what I’m talking about!” Qalas said.
Cavan blinked at him. Then shrugged.
“We’re friends. Haven’t you ever had a friend before?”
Qalas shook his head, and Cavan saw something sad in those dark blue eyes. Cavan smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Well, you have friends now.”
“Come on,” Ehren said, “our horses are probably thirsty by now.”
Amra clasped Qalas by the shoulder and steered him to follow Ehren.
“Tell me why you choose the halberd over a good, honest sword.”
“Will you tell me about that sword of yours?”
“Maybe later. You first.”
Cavan watched the three of them walk down a hill together, and smiled. Kent, Reed and Alec were fine, even if Reed and Alec weren’t married yet. And Rena, Cavan couldn’t have picked a better wife for Kent.
And best of all, he, Amra and Ehren were all alive and intact. And Qalas was turning out to be a good guy, for someone who’d shot him with an arrow. But then, Cavan had taken quite a beating from Ehren on the day they met, too.
And then there were those gemstones Kent had given him…
“Come on!” Ehren shouted back at him. “We have a long ride ahead of us. And I still think we should check out those mines…”
Cavan hurried down the hill to join his friends.
* * * * *
About the Author
Stefon Mears occasionally spots Iresk’s hawks circling in the sky. Stefon has more than fifteen books to his credit, and he never stops writing. He earned his M.F.A. in Creative Writing from N.I.L.A., and his B.A. in Religious Studies (double emphasis in Ritual and Mythology) from U.C. Berkeley. He’s a lifelong gamer and fantasy fan. Stefon lives in Portland, Oregon, with his wife and three cats. Look for Stefon online:
Web: http://www.stefonmears.com
E-mail: [email protected]
Twitter: @stefonmears
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Also by Stefon Mears
Ars Portlandia
The Patron Saint of Necromancers
The Rise of Magic
Magician’s Choice
Sleight of Mind
Lunar Al
chemy
The Telepath Trilogy
Surviving Telepathy
Immoral Telepathy
Targeting Telepathy
Edge of Humanity
Caught Between Monsters
Half a Wizard
With a Broken Sword
Twice Against the Dragon
The House on Cedar Street
Stealing from Pirates
Fade to Gold
Sudden Death
On the Edge of Faerie
Confronting Legends (Spells & Swords Vol. 1)
Uncle Stone Teeth and Other Macabre Poems
And Coming Soon...
The next Ars Portlandia novel!
Copyright Information
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright © 2016 by Stefon Mears
Published by Thousand Faces Publishing, Portland, Oregon
http://1kfaces.com
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the author.
Halloween Concept. Male Wizard With Fireball Photo cover image © Katalinks| Dreamstime.com (Modified from original)
Table of Contents
About Half a Wizard
Title Page
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About the Author
